


The Many Journeys of Volusk Rey

by orphan_account



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: College of Winterhold - Freeform, College of Winterhold Questline, Multi, Side Quests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 06:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14847776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection and clarification of the many oral traditions surrounding Volusk Rey, son of Hist-King Sashaka Rey, Founder of the Arcane Academy of the Hist-Blooded, and amateur adventurer.





	The Many Journeys of Volusk Rey

**Author's Note:**

> I, Tulush Kai, Hist-Scribe of the Great Tribe Kai, write this in the sixty-third year of the Fifth Era. My purpose- to chronicle and unite the many oral traditions of Volusk Rey, the legendary founder of the Arcane Academy of the Hist-Blooded, so that his legend never fades from memory. May the Hist bless my words, and keep them near to the truth.

On the eighth day of Second Seed, a small ship arrived in the port of Solitude. It was primarily a supply ship, carrying coin and swords intended for use by the Imperial Legion. There were three passengers, however. The first was a high-ranking officer of the Legion, who had been called from his visit to what remained of Morrowind to assist General Tullius. The second was the officer's young ward, a sly man who was a bastard of a bastard who had the heart of three bastards. The two men were quick enough in their wits to survive the Second Siege of Solitude, and both were present for the signing of the treaty between Titus Mede II and Ulfric Stormcloak, ending the war in the latter's favor. The bastard's bastard was even the one who discovered the body of Emperor after his assassination at hands of the Dark Brotherhood. A few of the legends even said that the assassin was the last of the true Shadowscales, before the small group of heretics from Black Marsh attempted to revive the order. But this story does not belong to neither Imperials, nor assassins. This story belongs to the ship's third passenger.

The third passenger was a black scaled and well dressed Argonian who had shared little with either the crew or the two Imperials. He had reason to. He cared little for men of war. His father had told him many times that war was an ugly business that benefitted no one, and these two men talked of very little else. The sailors were a bore as well, save for the two of them who shared his interest in the arcane. Of course, these two men were the ship's healer who wouldn't shut up about the good word of Mara, and a hand who had taken the time to learn the art of Waterbreathing should he or someone else fall overboard and considered himself a mage for it, so neither held his attention for very long. He didn't mind too much, however. He had been smart enough to bring enough books to survive the journey without succumbing to boredom.

The Argonian presently stood on deck of the ship, leaning fowards against the bow railing, watching the port as the crew prepared to dock. He was so excited to make landfall that if had not been for his luggage and his expensive cloak, he would have jumped over the side and swam to shore. Instead, he waited with the impatience that was so familiar to him. The Imperials seemed impatient as well, but he could not be bothered to care about their emotions. One of them, the aid, peered up at the great arch as they passed under it. "By the Eight," he gasped, "Have you ever seen anything like that?"

The reptile snorted and crossed his arms again his chest. "If that it is all it takes to impress you, than you must not have seen very much of the world. Perhaps if didn't spend your days hunched over a map gambling with your fellow man's lives, you would have seen more of it." The bastard looked offended, but if he was, he certainly didn't make it known verbally, and his master didn't complain either.

The ship docked without incident, and the passengers departed in a hurry, wanting to get out of the way of the heavy crates that the crew had to unload. The Argonian struggled a bit with his own belongings, given how many of them he had brought, but he didn't have to for long. A second Argonian waited for him on the dock, and he wasted no time in greeting his kinsman. "Volusk, is that you?" he called, and the man in question answered appropriately. "I haven't seen you in ten years. The time has done you well. You have a kingly radiance to you."

Volusk nodded and thanked him. "I appreciate your complements. Tell me, to who do I say my thanks?"

"Ilysk Choi, my Lord. I was told that I would recognize that you by the gold and blue color of your robes. I am to be your aid, until such time that you arrive at the College. Then I return to my duties as emissary here. It is an honor."

"The honor is mine, truly. Now, about the matter of my belongings," Volusk paused to pick up one bundle and hand it to his new servant, "carry those, if you would. Be careful with them. My blades are inside. Come now. Where is the inn that I will be staying?"

"Inn?" Ilysk laughed, "You're a prince as far as these fools know, and therefore a guest of the court. And say, I was told that you were a wizard of some sort. What does a wizard need with a blade?"

"A foolishly proud wizard would carry himself without a blade, but I am not foolish, despite my pride. My sword is elven steel, and my two daggers are malachite. They are of proud craftsmanship. The grayskin who crafted them deserved the coin he earned from them." He shrugged. "Either way, I haven't had to properly use them yet, and I'm no swordsman. But I can if I have to, and that is what is important. But look at us. Two nobles discussing blades like a pair of Nords. How is the court of Solitude?"

"Complex, surely. The High Queen still grieves, and many are grasping at the throne in her weakness, besides the Stormcloaks. The Thalmor are present, as well, but you wouldn't know it just by looking at them. Damn elves are everywhere. They can probably listen to us when we take a shit. Half the time I hope those deranged Nords win this bloody war. They're the only ones who give enough of a shit to do something about the weasels. But other than that, that, things have been quiet lately. The war is stagnant at the moment and will likely remain that way for another year or two. Somehow, Ulfric seems to smarter than General Tullius, but he doesn't have the men. He would need every Nord in Skyrim if he wanted an easier time of it, though there's been an uptick in migrants from Hammerfell, mostly veterans. Damn Redguards are itching for the opportunity to crush the elves again. I say let them. How are things at home?"

"The Morag Tong have continued to haunt us, only they seem to send their most incompetent members to slay us. I had to cut down an assassin of my own during my short time in Morrowind. Dunmer don't take well to lightning. My father had just executed another just before I left. His heart remains kind though, and that execution was a kindness. I have heard stories about how the Morag Tong flay those who fail them. Not even a grayskin deserves that. But our people are well. Are there many Saxheel in Skyrim?"

"No. This land is too cold for most of our people to stomach. Though interestingly enough, there are a number of our kin who work on the docks of Windhelm, despite the cold, but a greater number work in Riften, though. But it is not slavery by any means. It is simply the only job many of our people can get."

"That seems about right for these Nords. Have the lower races do all the work they don't care for, only so that they have more time to cut one another down. Utter madness, war is. They're fighting a war just so that they can fight another war. Have you ever heard anything more stupid than that? I think not." Looking up at the gates ahead of him Volusk remarked, "I've never seen a door that size. This must be some city."

Ilysk shot him a grin as he nodded to the guards. "This is the greatest city in Skyrim, after all. A mere peasant's home makes your father's palace look like a madman squatting in a burnt out ruin. Of course, it comes at a price. There are thieves everywhere. Mind your coin purse, and don't trust anyone unless I tell you. I've caught enough pursecutters that I have my own network of spies. It's mostly superficial, but it has proven its worth a number of times. You would be surprised how much a single thief can see."

Volusk eyed his kinsman warily, before turning to look at the city he was entering. All around him he saw beautiful stonework and red shingled roofs. Brilliant red and white banners hung from the walls, emblazoned with the visage of a wolf, and flowers grew in dozens of alcoves. Volusk made a mental note regarding the flowers, as he recognized dragon tongues and nightshade among them. But nothing held his attention more than the crowd of people who had gathered near a small platform near the gate. Atop the platform, Volusk saw a bound man in bloody and ragged clothes, escorted by several guards. A headsman stood nearby.

"You neglected to mention the warm welcome that they had planned for me," Volusk stated, setting down his parcel and folding his arms. "I certainly hope that they don't expect me to go up there with him."

"My apologies, milord. I've been at the docks waiting for you for your arrival, and I had forgotten the day. Look at the bright side. Would you rather I attended and forced you to carry your burdens yourself?"

"Don't get cheeky with me," Volusk replied, watching a red-bearded Nord climb the steps of the platform. "Who's that there? He seems important."

"Falk Firebeard, the right hand of the queen. She can't stomach these executions, so she sends Falk in her stead. He's a good man for it. He doesn't make a show of it, like some other would. He's respectful to the condemned."

Falk very audibly cleared his throat, silencing the crowd. "Rogvir, son of Harvir, you are sentenced this day, to death, by decapitation. This is for the crime of treason, for letting the murderer Ulfric Stormcloak to escape our fair city, after he slew our great king." Falk paused, letting the crowd have their round of jeers before he cut them off. "Do you have any last words for this world?"

Rogvir stepped forward. If he was afraid, then Volusk certainly couldn't see it. "There was no murder!" he proclaimed, to the displeasure of the crowd. The mass of bodies roared against him, with a few of them throwing rocks at the former guard. The executioner stepped in front of him and shielded him, wanting the man to die by the queen's justice rather be lynched.

Volusk had seen enough. "Let him speak!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise thanks to the only Illusion that he knew. The crowd quieted down, unsure of who and where the voice came from, allowing Rogvir to continue.

"There was no murder," he reiterated, "Ulfric challenged the High King to a duel, which he won in fair combat. Such is the old way, the way of our ancestors." He knelt down, and let out one last sigh. "On this day, I go to Sovngarde."

"May the Eight Divines have mercy on you," Falk told him, and a moment later the headsman swung his heavy axe. A murmur went through the crowd, and the executioner held up Rogvir's head for the crowd to see. Many people in the crowd cheered. Volusk felt disgusted.

"This is no execution. This is a spectacle. Were we in Black Marsh, my father would have struck down the man himself, and with his own sword, and if any man or woman dared to show disrespect to the convicted, he would step into the crowd and slay them as well. The man died for what he believed in. Any man should hope for the same."

"I'd guard your tongue if I were you," Ilysk warned him, "It's not that I don't disagree with you, but someone may hear you and think that you may be a conspirator." The two Argonians waited as the gathering dispersed, until Falk stepped down from the platform. "Falk! I have someone who you may like to meet!"

Falk glanced towards him and smiled. "Ah, I see that your prince has arrived." Turning to Volusk, he said, "Falk Firebeard. The High Queen's steward. I'm sorry for the rather disingenuous welcome to our city. Had I known you were to arrive today, I would have attempted to stall the execution. But it is a pleasure to meet you. What brings you to our fine city?"

"I'm just visiting, at moment. I'm planning on attending the College of Winterhold. I'm a bit of a mage, you see. It's a pleasure to meet you, though. I'm sorry that you had to deal with all that. Executions are a messy business, even if everything goes according to plan. But enough about that."

"Yes, indeed. Come with me. You're a guest of the queen, so she'll be excited to meet you. The Blue Palace is just this way." Falk then led them through the city to the palace. If the peasant's homes were grand, then Volusk was completely unprepared for the palace itself. A magnificent garden stood before it, with flowers of all colors and sizes. The tapestries had returned with twice their original size, and the guards around the grounds stood in steel plate and long, scarlet capes, rather than the cheaper ring mail and red leather vests worn by the city guard. A pair stood in front of the door, each armed with a long spear and a greatshield.

"By the Hist-Sap in my blood, they built this palace for their gods, didn't they?" Volusk whispered. Falk didn't hear him, but his awe was easy enough for the Nord to read.

"It is a grand palace. But those bountiful halls are a haven for rats. You should see the number of cats we have patrolling these halls. And yet we still have a problem." He shrugged. "They'll keep out of your bed, though. Most of them don't have the courage to stray far from the kitchen."

A guard opened the door for them, and they stepped inside. A second guard stopped them inside. Volusk could see his reflection in the man's well polished chestplate. "I'll have to ask that you please turn in any blades that you are carrying. Simply a precaution of course."

Volusk nodded. "I understand. Ilysk, my things?" The lighter scaled Argonian returned his better's parcel, and Volusk knelt down and undid its binding. He handed over sword, and then the two daggers.

"Aye, these blades are elven made," the guard said in an impressed tone, "It looks like a lot of care went into these blades. They must have been expensive. My father was a blacksmith, and he never came close to smithing anything as sharp as this piece."

"They belonged to a noble in Dunmer, a mer of three hundred years who spent most of that time brutalizing my people as slaves. When we marched on his home, we captured him, and paid him in kind. He was stabbed twice with a broken sword, branded with a hot iron, and then beaten with chains for fifty days. Then we set him free. My father took his decorative blades, and handed him an iron sword that he had wielded in that battle."

"Your father sounds like a merciful man. If I had been forced to be a slave, I'd think that I'd have quite the temper. I'll personally make sure that these are returning to your hands." Volusk thanked him, and Falk led him to his room.

Volusk stepped into his room and found himself in awe again. The room was large, almost the size of a cottage. The bed was covered in bear furs, and the walls were lined with bookshelves filled with titles he had never read. There was even a table where he could set up his alembic. "Does this city cease to amaze?"

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Falk asked.

Volusk was jolted out of his wonder and answered, "Yes, wine. And spiced nonsense that they sell in the markets. Real wine."

"I believe that we have a few bottles of Argonian blood wine down in the kitchens."

"Then by all means, get me it."

Falk nodded. "Alright. You should also know that there is a banquet in the hall tonight. Your presence is expected by the queen herself."

"Then I shall be there."

Volusk entered the grand hall and was almost swept away by the splendor of it all. The table was long enough to seat twenty five people on a single side, and that was simply one of seven. A hundred people were in the hall when Volusk arrived, dressed in furs and cloaks and all manners of expensive garb. Between them darted servants, mostly Bretons and Wood Elves, so that there smaller stature would make them less noticable. Volusk had no need for them yet, as he still clutched a bottle of blood wine. It was a fine drink, and he could already feel its effects.

To his surprise, the guests paid him little mind, seemingly more interested in their own agendas than the Argonian in the beautiful robes. Volusk didn't mind- after all, he didn't consider himself much of a people person. He hated that term, as well. People person. It was far too repetitive for his liking.

Volusk clung to the edges of discussions, hearing a few choice pieces of gossip but offering none of his own. It seemed to be a natural talent of his that he could slip in and out of conversations without being questioned about it. He ultimately came to a rest near one of the corners of the room. His bottle was almost empty by then, but another had been drained alone in his room. He was considering flagging down a serving girl when a man with silver hair and gold trimmed armor approached him. "Ah, some fiend has claimed my favorite hiding spot!" he cried in jest, a weathered smile on his face.

Volusk liked this man almost immediately. "Sorry to intrude, but I don't think that nobles are my sort. They're more lizard-like than I am!" he quipped, "To think that these are same people who wave to us from their balconies!"

"Yes, they certainly are not the sort to be trusted. They seem to think that their better than everyone simply because they're highborn. They wouldn't last two minutes in the real world. They'd be robbed blind and run through. I have half a mind to do it myself. Gods' know that some of them deserve it." The older man sighed and tapped the hilt of his sword. "Oh. My apologies, I'm rambling. General Mares Tullius. I'm sort of in charge around here, for some damned reason."

"Volusk of the Great Tribe Rey, son of the Hist-King Sashaka Rey. It's an honor. You seem more... Well, complex, than your peers."

"Oh? How's that?"

"I met an officer of yours on the voyage from Blacklight. Dreadfully boring man. He talked to me for hours about flanking strategies and the proper way to form a shield wall. He had a way of saying things with twenty words when two would suffice."

"That makes him my problem. Delightful." Tullius shook his head. "You know that I'm the only one who is allowed to carry a sword in this palace other than the guards? That's because they trust me. Many of the nobles have more faith in me than the queen, and it worries me because I can't find much fault in that. She's untested, and unprepared. Ruling during a war is relatively simple if you let your generals do their jobs. What worries me is what comes after the war. If we are victorious, then I will be returning to Cyrodil, along with my army, leaving her to the wolves. And if not, well... Unless I am mistaken, I believe that Ulfric would let her live, and either continue to rule simply as Jarl or he will exile her. Either way, the future is grim."

"Have you brought these concerns to the queen?"

"Not yet. I haven't the courage. War is one thing. Politics are another. And besides, I thinks she knows anyways. Elisif is much smarter than people realize."

The mage was unsure of how to reply, but he never got the chance to, as a moment later servants poured into the room carrying many silver platters filled with food. The two men said their farewells and found their seats. The general was seated near the head of the High Queen's table, and Volusk was not far away, being a guest of honor. He was seated between a drunken man who and an Altmer wizard who's eyes had an uncanny look to them.

The queen stood at her place, Falk at her left and the General at her right. "Honored guests, it is pleasure to see each and every one of your smiling faces. On this night we celebrate the grand victory Solitude won two eras before this very day, and we honor those heroes and their descendants, myself among them. Before we sup, I would like to thank the Eight Divines for providing us this meal, for raising the bucks that we hunted and for guiding the arrows that brought them down. I would also like to acknowledge our guests of honor, the third granddaughter of of our Lord Emperor Titus Mede II, and Volusk Rey, heir apparent to the throne of Black Marsh." Volusk tilted his head when his name was called, as did the Emperor's granddaughter. "Thank you all for coming. Enjoy your meal."

The platters were opened all at once, unleashing a feast that Volusk had never seen the likes of. Venison, beef, mutton, chicken, pheasant, lamb, a dozen species of fish, and even a whole wild boar made up the meats, and their was more still. Fruits and vegetables surrounded the meats, and Volusk had crushed a whole apple in his jaws before he had even touched a piece of bread. Dozens of flagons were passed around, each filled with the finest wines available. Volusk tore an entire hindleg off of one of the lambs and set to work on it. The meat was flavorful, and tender enough that it fell apart in his mouth.

Once Volusk had made short work of the leg, he chose a choice cut beef, seared just to point where the juices sopped out of it. The mere smell of it drove him mad with hunger, but he remembered his manners and dined properly. As he did, the drunken man apparently decided that he was worthy of his attention. "So, you're a lizard prince, eh? Sounds like a good life!"

Volusk swallowed a piece of meat, revelling in the flavor before entertaining the annoying man. "I'm not exactly a 'prince' as you call it, nor am I heir apparent. Though I am my father's son, and should he die I would rule for a time, it is the Hist that chooses its king, not bloodlines. My duties are something much different."

"Eh, a prince is a prince. Me, personally, I'm a Thane, and should anything happen to the fair Elisif, I shall take the throne. And it looks more and more likely every day. The court has no faith in a weak willed girl. Once we marry, things will change. I am clearly the best of her suitors, and I am more than willing to produce a heir. After all, who needs a woman with heavy breasts when she has the ass of a horse!" To emphasize his point, the man seized the rear of servant girl who had made the mistake of bending over the table to reach an empty flagon. The girl yelped, and Volusk leaned over and smacked the man's arm away, freeing her.

"Have some decency. Pay a visit to a brothel if your loins ache so much." The Argonian rolled his eyes as his serrated teeth made short work of another piece of meat. "As if the queen would marry a man with your massive and public lust. To do so would be a mockery of the crown that weighs heavy on her head."

"You watch your tongue, lizard prince," the man growled, but that was all he could say before a fearful scream cut him off. It had come from the direction of the queen, and that reason enough for Volusk to leap from his seat and onto the table, a fire burning in his hand.

It was indeed the queen who had screamed, as she had been pulled from her seat and had a blade pressed to her throat. It was culprit that surprised Volusk- it was the same serving girl that the drunken man had groped a moment before, and by the look of the ppomme of the sword, it was General Tullius' sword. The robbed man had sprung from his seat, the dagger he kept as a sidearm in his hanh, his eyes apprehensive. The serving girl retreated backwards, provoking another scream from the captive queen as the blade nicked her. The guards rushed to block the doors, save for the captain, who drew a bastard sword and slowly approached the two women.

The serving girl was panicking, and everyone could tell. "I'll do it! I'll gut her just like she gutted my father!" Elisif screamed again, but she seemed to remember the ceremonial dagger at her hip, and in a moment Volusk realized that she was stupid enough to use it.

A green flash shot across the room and exploded against Elisif's breast, making muscle like stone for a few seconds. The serving girl, paralyzed, fell backwards, and the equally paralyzed queen fell with her. Volusk leapt forward, as did the guard captain. The captain pried the sword from the girl's grasp, and had to break three of her fingers in doing so. Volusk freed the hostage, wrestling her out of the girl's arm just as they began to move again. The servant was dragged upwards, kicking and screaming.

"Get her out of here!" Falk barked, both Volusk and the captain responding. The mage took the woman by the hand and led her away, Falk and a pair of guards in tow. "In there!" Volusk ducked into a small closet, and helped the queen inside before Falk locked them in.

"Are you alright?" Volusk asked, but he received no answer. Instead, Elisif put her back to a wall and slid down it, sobbing. "Milady? Milady? Are you alright?" Seeing that he was getting nowhere, he cast a Candlelight, and saw that there was a small Nick in her neck, likely caused by the fall. Luckily it had missed her jugular, so it was closed with a weak healing spell.

The Candlelight died out soon after, and then they were alone in the dark, the only sources of light being the sliver of light that slipped under the door, and the shining ice that floated in Volusk's hands. It might have been minutes or hours that they had been in there. Finally, Falk knocked and asked for the queen to be let out.

Volusk opened the door a crack, just so he could see Falk's eyes. "Is it safe?" he whispered, and Falk nodded, and his eyes told him that it was true. Volusk turned back to the queen, who more than resembled a crying little girl. "Come on, milady. It's safe now."

Volusk found sleep hard to come by that night. He didn't manage to return to his bedchambers until the Twin Moons were almost beneath the horizon. Once the queen was secure, the guards swept the halls, searching for any other conspirators. When they found none, they made sure to question every guest of their intentions. It seemed as though the girl had acted alone, and that when the drunken man had groped her, it had set her off, causing her to change her plans. A thorough search of the castle had turned up a vial of poison that the would-be assassin had originally intended to use.

Falk hailed Volusk as a hero, and he took the name well. He'd been called quite a few things in the past three months, particularly during Morrowind, that the name "hero" was a welcome change. He couldn't wait to write his father and tell him of his bravery.

When Volusk did find rest, he slept a good while, almost until noon before he roused to go about his day. He wanted to explore the city a bit more, to see if he could find a local alchemist. The guards had seized his ingredients the night before, and were unlikely to return them, hero or not. He selected a simpler set of robes than the day before, being a plain white fabric with blue accents. Before he managed to change, however, his door opened, a young man entered hurriedly.

"Milord!" the boy began, but he cut himself off at the sight of Volusk in his smallclothes. "Ah! I'm sorry, I-I didn't..."

"Do you mind?!" Volusk barked, causing the intruder to slam the door behind him just as quickly as he entered. The undressed mage grunted and slipped into his robes, making sure to take his time with it. Once he was dressed, he stepped out and eyed the servant. "What is it?"

The young man bowed before speaking, and did not rise until he was done. "Th-the good queen has requested your presence, mi-milord. She asked that you meet with her at your earliest leisure."

"Then I shall go at once. And next time, boy," Volusk added, putting a firm grip on his shoulder, "Be sure to knock before entering my chambers." He released him, and the boy scurried off, leaving Volusk to find the throne room by himself. Luckily, it wasn't too difficult a task, as the builders had wisely designed the castle's halls in such a way that they funnelled towards it.

Volusk was stopped at the door by a pair of guards, one of which patted him down as a precaution. Satisfied that Volusk was unarmed, they opened the large double doors and allow him inside. The throne room itself was as grand as Volusk had come to expect, and the walls were lined with a large number of guards, and they all kept at least one hand on their weapons.

"Volusk..." Elisif said warmly, "It's good to see you." Turning to the guards, she added, "Everyone, please. He is no threat to my safety. He saved my life."

Volusk shrugged. "You're welcome. I did what I could. How's your neck?"

"It's fine. I hadn't even realized that I'd actually been cut until they found the blood on my neck and nearly tore me apart trying to figure out why I had blood on me" She sighed, looking around at her guards. "Would you take a walk with me? I'd like to clear my head, and you seem like a good man to talk to."

"Of course." Elisif smiled and stood up from her throne, and strode over to the door at the side of the throne room. A guard opened it for her, and Volusk and her captain followed her down a short flight of stairs that quickly opened into a garden-like courtyard. The captain stood at door and gave Volusk a curt nod. Volusk found the queen sitting on a small stone bench, and he quickly joined her.

"This garden has been here since before my mother had been born," Elisif told him, "When I was a little girl I used to play here every day. Now it just sits here. Empty." She sighed. "I used to dream about what life would be like when I was older. I thought that it would be an endless parade of handsome knights and bountiful feasts, and I could sleep and relax and... And that they would love me for it. But I was wrong." Tears welled in her eyes, but she pressed on. "I almost envy Ulfric in a way, despite everything. They see him as a hero, as Talos reborn. And what do my people see me as? Something that is in the way. Had it not for you, or General Tullius, or the guards... No one would saved me. They would have watched her slit my throat, and Erikur would be on the throne before my body was cold. I'm surprised that he hasn't tried it himself."

A silence came between them. Finally, Volusk said, "You're much like my father, in a way. He wouldn't stand for this life. He would find it boring. In fact, he would likely dash the head of every noble in castle against every wall he could find. Or at least he would want to. He's a fair man, and an even fairer king. When my people rose against our captors, we had the numbers to butcher them like animals. But we didn't, because that would make us animals as well. We refused to become something that we knew that we were not. And you should do the same."

"How?"

"Who are you, Elisif?" he asked her, "Are you a queen? A Jarl? Or are you just a woman thrown into a situation beyond your control? Your error stems from believing that you are the queen, that the burdens of every man, woman, and child should rest on your shoulders. And in a way, they do. They are the queen's burdens. But a queen is not a woman. It is a title bestowed upon a woman. Your duty is as important as a lumberer, or a miner, or a seamstress. If you don't take time to step away, to breathe, to think, you'll go mad. You should never become queen. It is simply your part to play."

"So, I need to rest?"

"And for some time. Your duties are eating away at you. I can see it in your face. How long did thet allow you to grieve your husband? A month? A week?"

"A fortnight."

"Did you love him?"

Elisif hesitated, unsure of how to answer. "No, not truly. I'd been told of him all my life, and I had made a picture in my head that I loved. But the man I had made was perfect, and while he was no demon, he wasn't perfect either. I think I would have come to love him, in time. But not when he died. I still miss him, though. He understood me, just as you do. And had a way of making me laugh. If only..." She shook her head. "I think that you're right. But... What would..."

"I'm sure Falk can sit the throne in your stead. I will make effort to aid him, as well. It's the least I could offer."

"I..." Elisif lost the words, and instead turned and embraced Volusk. "Thank you."

Afterwards, Volusk spoke with Falk, and convinced him of Elisif's plight. He took the news easily enough, and mentioned that it was something that he had suspected as well, but that he yet to fully question it. And yet, when Volusk found his bed that night, he could not sleep. He couldn't help but feel as though a piece of the puzzle was still missing, and that he had one more task to complete. He figured a walk would help to clear his head, so he dressed himself in the robes that he laid out for the morning and went on his way.

He stepped out of the palace, preferring fresh air to the stone-smelling halls. The night sky was darker than usual, as storm clouds hung over Solitude. He could smell the fresh scent of rain, though no drops had fallen yet. The streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional city guard, and they paid the fretting Argonian little mind. His wandering feet carried him to Castle Dour, up the up the stairs, and led him to a damaged part of the wall. The was an opening large enough for a man to stand in, which raised about an arm's length off the ground. He vaulted over it and fell a short distance to the stony outcropping below. Below him, he could hear the faint sound of the crashing waves against the stone. He wasn't far from the cliff, but it didn't bother him.

Volusk frowned, unsure of what unseen force had drawn him to this place. It was eeriely quiet, and it made him greatly uncomfortable. He wanted to do what he needed to, and get out of there. Over the waves he heard an odd sound, and he followed it to a small window in the castle wall, barred with iron. He peered inside, hoping for answers.

Inside was a girl, and Volusk recognized her immediately. It was the serving girl, the same one that had moved to take Elisif's life. He cupped one hand in front of his mouth and shouted, "Hey!" quickly gaining the girl's attention.

"Who's there?" She said, no louder than a whisper.

"A friend," Volusk responded automatically.

"A friend?! My ass! Show yourself!" Volusk sighed, and the stone around the iron bars glowed green before tearing free with a crunch. He slipped in a minute later, his robes rippling from the fall. The girl recognized him, and immediately began to struggle against the iron bindings that kept her arms pinned high against the wall. "You! What in Oblivion do you want?!"

"I'd like to do the right thing," he replied, "but I'm not sure what that is. Which is why you're going to tell me. So, what could have possibly motivated you to kill the High Queen? Or were you moving against her as Jarl rather than queen? Or perhaps, do you see her as neither, and simply see her as something preventing Ulfric from taking the throne?"

"I say damn the Imperials and damn the Stormcloaks! They both put me here. But I didn't try to kill a queen! I tried to kill the woman who murdered my father!"

"Yes," Volusk recalled, "I do remember you shouting something to that effect. It had slipped from my mind until now. Would your father happen to be the man who was executed that very morning?"

"Why should I tell you anything?"

"You make a fair point. You owe me nothing, and while your actions are your own, I can understand why you might hold a grudge against me. However, as I am willing to let you go, provided the right circumstances, I would advise against angering me."

The girl hesitated, drawing in a labored breath, before answering, "In a way. He was more of father than the true man ever was. My real father rued the day I was born. He had wanted a son, and he had prayed every day and night for one. Imagine how surprised he was when his wife died bearing him a daughter. I did everything I could to win his heart. I learned how to swing a sword and mount a horse. I even apprenticed under a blacksmith for a summer. But he didn't care. Only Uncle Rogvir did. Course it didn't help that he was a shit."

"And how was he a shit?"

"He acted like one. Put a beehive in a man's bed once. Things like that. And then there was the fact that he was one of maybe three supporters of the rebellion in Solitude. Or at least, one of the ones who were open about it. No one thought much of it, though, not until that fateful day. Did you that they tortured him for nearly a year, thinking that he was a spy? Makes me afraid of what they'll do to me."

"You're motives are certainly justifiable, but your actions are not. No man or woman truly has the right to kill another. Not in battle, not in justice, not in vengeance. You have lived as a child for your entire life, and despite what you think, holding that blade against the queen's throat did not change that. The difference between a man and a child is that a child acts on emotions, whereas a man acts on reason."

"I'm not a man! I'm a wom..."

"Do not test my patience," he snapped, his amber eyes catching the moonlight at an intimidating angle, "I am trying to teach you the error of your ways. You think that killing is justice. It isn't. My father spent a good deal of his life in chains. He was treated like an animal. Like less than an animal. But when he freed himself, did he slaughter them? Did he cut their throats in their beds? No. When he marched on Morrowind, he burned their homes and salted their fields, but that was his mercy. Allowing that live would prompt them to reform, lest history repeat itself."

"I... I just... You're right. I was angry. Blinded by it. And in my blindness, I stumbled into a dark place. Please... I'll do anything..."

"You don't have to do anything," Volusk said, having made up his mind, and a second later the stone brick that held her bindings crumbled, dropping her to the ground. Volusk then took a rock and smashed it into the iron bindings with enough force to break them both. "Come on, let's get you out of here." He lifted the girl up so she could crawl through the hole, before climbing up himself, his claws easily finding purchase in the uneven stone. He shook off his robes once he was out, and looked them over to make sure that they hadn't ripped. "Are you at all hurt?"

"My side," the girl told him, turning to show him that blood had soaked through the waist of her dress.

"Yes, it would seem so. Strip, if you would, so I may see the damages." The girl gave him an apprehensive look, but he waved her off. "Relax. I'm no more interested in your than I am any human or elven woman. And besides, you will have to at some point. You'll look suspicious in those bloody clothes." Reluctantly, the woman agreed and removed her dress, leaving her in set of smallclothes that Volusk did not comment on. Instead, he focused on the damage to her side. There were no major punture wounds befitting a sword or dagger. It looked as though she had been kicked repeatedly with metal boots. There was a lot of bruising, and from his prodding he deducted that she had a broken rib as well, and that it might have been pressing on her lung, which would explain her cough.

The bright orange warmth of healing spell manifested itself in his palms, which he held close to the battered skin. When he pulled his hands back, the bruising was still present, but the pain was gone. "That feels much better," she said, "Thank you. But... Why?"

Because it was the right thing to do," Volusk replied. "Now, you won't like what happens next. You're going to have to jump."

"Jump where?"

"Into the ocean," Volusk explained, somewhat exasperated at the girl not knowing what the obvious answer was.

"But aren't we... Gods, I'd never survive! Are you insane?"

"You'd never survive if I wasn't here, and if I wasn't a mage." Volusk put his hands on her shoulders, and when pulled them back, the girl had a blue glow to her. "Go. Now." The girl hesitated, so Volusk dragged her to the cliff's edge. "When they find you, tell them you jumped, and that when your heart changed halfway down, the Divines took pity on you. Claim yourself as newly devoted to Mara, and make a pilgrimage to her temple in Riften." Without another word, he spun the girl around and planted a heavy kick in her back, throwing her down to water below. He watched her fall, and smiled when he saw that she made it to the surface.

He turned back to the wall and climbed back up, and then made his way back to the palace. No one stopped him on his way, and he found his bedchambers welcoming, and slept through the night, dreaming of fire, a woman, and a greatsword made out of ebony. He took the dream well, wondering when he would have the chance to meet her.


End file.
